Soul Eater 1. Without You

**_I do not own or have the rights to "Without You." The rights and ownership go to the respective holders/owners._**

* * *

_"I am lost. I am vain. I will never be the same **without you**."_

* * *

The crystalline droplets descended in an endless rhythm, soaking anything and everything that came between them and solid ground. Whether it was the tops of trees, the petals of flowers, the marble of a gravestone, or the hair of a mourner, the drops didn't care; they just kept coming, completely unaware of the hole in the world left by the departure of a certain soul.

He knew, though.

Oh yes, he knew.

He was all too aware of how the rain fell on, apathetic to his misery. He knew all too well that time ticked on, that life moved forward, despite the fact that his own time, his own life was at a standstill. Her sands had run out, but his continued to fall forward in a merciless rhythm that challenged those endless globes of precipitation.

She was his friend, his partner, the companion to his cool and the gravity in his world. Now that she was gone, he was just floating along aimlessly without any ground to stand on- without anything to tether him to reality.

Or to sanity.

Her absence had awakened in him a violent beast that ate away at his heart, his mind, his soul. With each sorrowful droplet that fell, his very being was more and more consumed with this thick shadow that he could not dispel. He stood before a granite marker, frowning deeply at the name carved into the dismal gray. With his head bent forward and his hands in his pockets, he allowed his own moisture to blend with that of the sky.

All of a sudden, as if a switch had been flipped in his mind, his pained scowl transformed into a distorted grin, and he lifted his head, showing his set of sharp teeth to the stone which read:

"Maka Albarn: Beloved Daughter, Brilliant Student, Loving Friend, and Devoted Partner."

"Thanks for everything, Babe." He muttered to the engraving, suddenly sobering. "You were the greatest partner I could ask for." He stifled a sob. "But I can't win this fight without you," He choked out.

And with that, the last bits of his mind were submerged in the dark substance within his corrupted soul.

* * *

_"I've lost my heart; I've lost my mind **without you**."_

"_**Without You" by Gavin DeGraw**_


	2. Paper Airplane

_**_I do not own or have the rights to "Paper Airplane." The rights and ownership go to the respective holders/owners._**_

__Author's Note: Brownie points to whoever can find two other little song references in here. (Hint: Rise Against) __

* * *

_"Every silver lining always seems to have a cloud that comes my way."_

* * *

Pure ivory flakes glided to the ground, blanketing the city in cold, wet winter. This being Nevada, it very rarely snowed, so, on the off chance that it did, the entire town shut down for the day, and the Death Weapon Meister Academy, aka Shibusen, was no exception. The Academy, usually lively with the chatter and bustle of teachers and students, was now silent. The only sounds within the stately halls of Shibusen were the inaudible echoes created by the soft pattering of snow on the rooftop. Most of the students were either at home, snuggled up in blankets watching television with their partners, or running amok in the outdoor wonderland they had discovered. On this particularly snowy December afternoon, however, Soul Eater had holed himself up in his apartment.

Alone.

His meister was somewhere amid the mounds of frozen moisture outside his window, squealing and laughing along with their friends. She had puffed out her cheeks and pouted fit to persuade Satan when he refused to come outside, but the stubborn weapon had come out victorious when he feigned a cold. So, here he found himself, glued to the sofa with a warm mug in between his palms, attempting to ignore the elated squeals and giggles that wafted past the window panes. However, T.V. and cocoa can only ward off cabin fever for so long; thus, the teen soon found himself zipping up his only parka and heading out into the world of white.

* * *

He hated this kind of cold weather. He hated how the icy winds nipped at his face and made his cheeks sting and his eyes burn. He hated how the moist flakes leaked into his shoes, soaking his toes and giving him chills.

Most of all, he hated how cold weather made him think of her.

For every ounce that hated winter in him, there was twice that and more that loved it in her. She loved snowflakes and snowmen and mountains capped in pure white. She loved winter apparel, winter sports, and late winter nights spent huddled around a blazing fire. He'd always thought it appropriate that winter was her favorite season; the solid, frozen ice matched her stone cold heart. Most adults would frown at him, scolding him with disgusted reproach in their eyes because of his bitter thoughts toward her.

"She's your mother," They would state, judgmental glares cutting him to the core. "Have some respect."

Their obliviousness made his blood boil. If anyone seriously considered that woman to be a mother, they were a few nuts short of a fruitcake. She'd given him a home, a room, and countless other things that he couldn't even begin to name, but those things alone did not make her his mother. She hated him, and he knew it, though no one believed him, not even Maka. They would simply gasp in surprise, unable to believe that she was capable of disdain toward her own offspring.

But they were wrong.

So wrong.

She had never abused him physically. That would have left proof. There was no evidence, save the emotional damage and scarring, of the psychological abuse she had inflicted upon him. She had constantly reminded him of his failures and shortcomings, always piercing right through him with her chilling azure eyes. She found unparalleled joy in reminding him that he'd never measure up to his brother, that he'd never be worthy of the name "Evans."

She'd never held him in her arms, or drawn him to her in a warm embrace, or assured him that she loved and cherished him as a mother should her child. She'd never truly loved him, of that he was certain. Even when he was nothing more than a babbling toddler; even then she'd hated him. She hated his very existence. From the day he was born, she'd regarded him as a burden, as trash under her feet…even…even when he was just an innocent little baby!

Hot tears escaped from the corners of his eyes, branding his frozen skin with their river-shaped paths. He wanted to scream, to shout, to curse her name and her very existence, just as she had his for so long. He fell to his knees in the deep snow, rubbing viciously at his pinked cheeks and tear-filled eyes. When he lifted his head, he found that he had wandered to the edge of the city; he stared through watery eyes into the white frost of a desert turned arctic tundra. It was amazing how such a hot, barren landscape could transform into a frozen field of snow and ice in just one day. If such a place could change, maybe people could, too…

"Tch." He scoffed and shook his head, angry at himself for being so wishy-washy. He could never go back to her, never call or write her. It wasn't like she cared anyway. He was the long forgotten son; the unworthy head in the Evans bloodline.

Glancing over the frost-coated plain one last time, he got to his feet and began the weary trudge back to his apartment, leaving all thoughts of reconciliation at the edge of the desert-tundra.

* * *

"_That's why you'll find me here all alone and still wondering "why?" Waiting inside for the cold to get colder."_

"_**Paper Airplane" by Allison Krauss &amp; Union Station**_


	3. Need You Now

_**_I do not own or have the rights to "Need You Now." The rights and ownership go to the respective holders/owners._**_

* * *

_"Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor…"_

* * *

The air was thick with the scent of stale alcohol and salty sweat. Women in skimpy dresses slunk by, barely looking him over before their cat-like eyes were skimming the bar for a more appealing catch.

It was obvious why he was there.

It was written all over his slack-jawed face, from his bloodshot eyes to his flushed out cheeks. He wasn't there to have a good time, to "get lucky," or to party. He was there to drown; to drown in his sorrows, and to drown his sorrows in shots of hard liquor. To try to use all the booze he could get his hands on to make the memories fade away. The problem with that was: alcohol's a depressant. It slurred his speech and muddled his mind, but none of that aided him in his quest for freedom from the flashbacks that plagued him. He slammed his fist against the bar table, barking at the bartender, a nice-bodied blonde in her twenties, for another fill.

"Hey Lady, another shot over here, huh?"

"Name's Liz, kid." She tossed back, grabbing a glass and trotting to a nearby sink.

She knew good and well how old he was. It was obvious that he had only just come of age, legal to vote and serve, but he was still three years shy of the legal drinking age. Still, she had detected the pain and desperation in his eyes the moment he sat down. She figured getting a little buzzed might help kick the kid back into place, but, seeing as that last one was his third shot since arriving 20 minutes ago, she knew she had grossly overestimated his ability to hold liquor.

Sauntering over to the disgruntled patron, she slammed down the glass of water and flashed him a wry grin, saying, "Just a minute there, Junior. No need to get a nasty hangover before you even leave the bar."

He scowled at her, obviously put off by the nickname, and turned to survey the other occupants of the crowded joint. Sloppy grins, sweat-coated skin, and haphazard clothing flashed back and forth all around him, only made worse by the haze that had settled over his senses. Turning back to the bar, he heaved a deep sigh and glared at the glass in front of him.

Liz tossed him a raised brow and shook her head, turning to organize the littered mess of bottles on the shelves behind her. When she turned back, the youth had lowered his head into his crossed arms, and his wild ivory locks lay spread over the surface of the bar. "Poor kid." She muttered. "Wonder what kinda hell he's seen…" Though she'd only been tending bars for two years or so, Liz had a way of reading people that required little experience. She could read a troubled past in his gnawed lips, sagging eyes, and already creased features.

Every time she looked over at him, his head was still down, and every time she looked away, she wondered just kinda kinda hell such a young kid had seen.

* * *

The minutes ticked by on the Bud Weiser clock until the little hand pointed past the one and the big hand was pointing straight to the right. The bar was mostly empty now, save for a few couples readying to venture out into the night that they believed was still young.

Stifling a yawn, Liz strode around the bar and planted herself in the seat next to the youth, gently nudging his arm in an effort to bring him back to reality.

"The hell do you want?" He grumbled testily, his forehead still resting against his forearms.

"It's after 1 am, kid. My shift ends, soon, and the next guy isn't as nice as I am. He'll kick your sorry ass right outta this place."

For a moment, neither moved. Then, slowly, the wild-haired boy raised his head and turned his face toward her. Her jaw slackened a bit and she nearly gasped. His face was pink and spotted with red blotches, and fresh tears reluctantly slid down his cheeks. They sat in silence for a moment, merely staring at one another, neither sure how to start.

Then, the male sighed and cleared his throat, rubbing a trembling fist at his eyes as he mumbled, "Well, this isn't cool at all…"

Liz merely grunted and chuckled in agreement.

"I-Sorry about this…" He muttered through his teeth as he rubbed the sleeve of his jacket along the wood of the table, trying to wipe away the moisture and drops of alcohol that had landed there. His crimson eyes peered at her, suddenly embarrassed and timid, from between strands of his stark mane.

"It's cool." She smiled. "It happens. So, if you don't mind me asking, why…" She trailed off, realizing how cruel it was for her to interrogate him when he was obviously not fit. Her curiosity had, as usual, conquered her manners.

He suddenly let out a low, rueful chuckle and glanced up at her, his shoulders slumped and his arms resting over one another on the table top. "Why I'm here, trying to drown in booze?" He sighed once more and ran his slender fingers through his thick hair.

"Well, I'll go right out and say it: yeah, it was a girl. But not in the way you'd think." A toothy grin flashed across his lips as he considered the implications. "Nah, none of that kind of thing. Something worse…So much worse…" His features suddenly sobered. "We were driving. Well, I was. We were on my motorcycle." His brows creased and his jaw clenched at the word. "This truck…it just came out of nowhere and ran smack into us. All I remember…She was screaming. Screaming so loud, right in my ear. She was so scared, terrified, but I was frozen. All I saw was this massive semi speeding straight toward us, honking his horn for me to get out of the way, but I couldn't." He inhaled and let it out slowly. "All because some stupid slow poke wouldn't let us pass him. Somehow, I wasn't hurt too bad. I had a hairline fracture on my forearm, my shoulder's still screwed up, and my leg was bruised and scarred really bad, but otherwise I made out alright." He paused, his eyes tearing up again.

"But she…Her name is Maka." A light grin tickled his lips as the named escaped his throat. "Maka Albarn. She has the most beautiful green eyes you'll ever see. They're kinda a dull green, but they're so sparkly and full of life…You don't even notice the lame color." He chortled with himself, at some unknown inside joke. "She…she didn't get off so easy. The bike landed on top of her. She's real fragile, I guess, though she can fight like hell if she's in a pinch. Real smart, too. She'll yap your ear off for hours, but she'll teach you a thing or two."

Realizing he was digressing again, he gritted his sharp teeth and continued. "The bike…it crushed her. Not literally, not all the way, but her legs…Oh god, they were mangled…It was awful…" He gripped his stomach at the graphic memory, a tear or two slipping from the corners of his eyes. "She's paralyzed now. She was in a medically-induced coma for a day or two, trying to get her body stable before they fixed her up…" He chewed on his lips, rubbing at his eyes. "I-I haven't talked to her since before the accident. I was in the hospital myself while she was in her coma, and I snuck out to go visit her, but…Seeing her so pale and weak looking…even in that coma her face looked like it was in pain. I couldn't stick around until she woke up. I couldn't face her because…It was all my fault." A fresh stream of tears cascaded down his cheeks as a dry sob tried to escape his throat. Liz watched him, her heart breaking for this boy, but she merely looked on, letting him release this pent up anguish.

"I just…don't know what to do." He whispered. "How can I talk to her? She's bound to a wheelchair and it's all my fault. Our friends have been calling me all night, trying to get me to visit her, but…I just can't. And that's how I ended up here." He concluded a little too matter-of-factly for Liz's taste. When she realized he was waiting for her to offer some kind of advice, or at least consolation, she puckered her lips and raised her brows, scouring her mind for how to set him straight. Gentleness and kindness weren't exactly her strong suits…

"Alright, kid-"

"Soul." He cut in. "My name is Soul."

"Fine. Soul. Look, you can't go around avoiding her for the rest of your life. You love her, right?"

"I-" He bowed his head. "Yes."

"And you didn't purposefully run into that truck, and it wasn't you who threw the bike on her, right?"

His head snapped up, his eyes wide. "Of course not!" He growled out defensively.

"Well, there you go! What's holding you back, then? You didn't do it on purpose, and you care about her a lot, so go see her! What'd keeping you here?" She jeered. "Fear?"

His deep scarlet eyes blazed and he bit out, "Not anymore."

Whipping out a black cell phone, he snapped it open and hurriedly scrolled through his contacts. Liz grinned a victorious little smile and rose gracefully from her seat, returning to her post behind the bar.

"Hey…Maka." She heard him choke out a few seconds later. "I-It's me, Soul…I-I need to see you…"

* * *

_"...It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk and I **need you now**..."_

**_"Need You Now" by Lady Antebellum_**


	4. Shadows

_**_I do not own or have the rights to "Shadow." The rights and ownership go to Sam Tsui/Kurt Schneider/Whoever Else._**_

* * *

_"It's time I ought to be moving on."_

It's 3:09 am.

He's been awake for hours.

He hasn't really rested for days, weeks actually.

He just can't sleep.

Every time he closes his eyes, images of her face flash across his mind. Her smile stays imprinted on the back of his eyelids; her laugh echoes within his thoughts. He hears her voice everywhere he goes.

* * *

_"I bet it looks like I'm not even trying to."_

Just this morning, or yesterday morning, he was about to skip breakfast, but her customary lecture on the importance of eating breakfast, if nothing else all day long, suddenly began playing through his head.

And this afternoon, when he was walking to Stein's lecture hour, he could swear he heard her run up behind him, calling his name.

* * *

_"But somehow you're still standing behind me."_

Everything seems to remind him of her.

The moon reminds him that she sat next to him in the Crescent Room.

The healthy grass of the school's small outdoor area brings her bright, earthy green eyes to mind.

Each time he passes the library, he has to suppress the urge to poke his head through the front door; though he sometimes relents and does it anyway, subconsciously praying that he'll find her sitting in her usual spot, a book propped in front of her.

Even when he goes to rev his bike, he thinks of the first time he ever convinced her to sit on the motorcycle, her nervous giggles bouncing through his memory.

He just can't get away from her, no matter where he goes. Her memory lingers like a head ache that won't ease off.

_"How long will your memory last?"_ _  
_

* * *

"_It's always there, too close, too much."_

It seems that her memory is strongest in their apartment. Yes, it's still their apartment, even if only the ghosts of her existence still dwell there, and each item in their place holds its own special memory of her.

He paces around the diminutive dwelling, allowing his eyes to wander aimlessly until they settle on the living area.

* * *

_"Here all alone, my past on the walls."_

The coffee table; she always yelled at him for putting his "dirty feet" on its silvery glass surface.

The couch; he couldn't count the number of times he'd come home and found her fast asleep on its plush cushions, her head forward and her chest rising and falling in that easy rhythm it always had.

The TV; she rarely watched television, but, if she did, it was usually some boring documentary she'd make him sit through.

He smiles at the thought of the last one they watched together. It was on the history of jazz music. He hadn't known until a week later, when he found the TV Guide with the program circled in it, that she had planned the viewing ahead of time, just to please him.

She always did cheesy stuff like that, just to put a smile on his face.

Striding to the coffee table, he leans over and lifts a large silver frame that guards the only photo of her he has. The ever-tearful Spirit took all other remnants of her when he came to collect her things a few weeks ago.

* * *

_"Clear it out just like you've never been."_

It's a great shot of her: her eyes are wide and shimmering in the afternoon sun, the emerald and jade within them glistening and gleaming like real gems. Her golden-ash hair is blowing behind her on an unseen breeze, adding life to the image and completely revealing her beautiful features, and her smile…her smile was stunning.

He realizes with a slight twinge of regret that she didn't smile as often as he would have liked. He should have tried to make her laugh more often; he had always loved the way her eyes danced and her white teeth glittered when she smiled at him.

He grins bitterly and mutters to himself, "Stupid angel. You took everything when you left, but you left behind all these shadows" as salty droplets begin to snake down his cheeks.

* * *

_"When you took it all you forgot your **shadow**."_

* * *

**_Shadow by Sam Tsui_**


End file.

Soul Eater, Angst, Drama